


russian roulette (sidekick style)

by lylacs



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: Angst, Batfamily Feels, Canonical Character Death, Dead Robins, Family, Gen, Introspection, Non-Canonical Character Death, Russian Roulette, basically a lot of death, basically dead sidekicks, this is Bruce Wayne angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-09
Updated: 2017-07-09
Packaged: 2018-11-29 19:48:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11447826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lylacs/pseuds/lylacs
Summary: Bruce doesn't know it, but he's been playing this game his whole life.





	russian roulette (sidekick style)

**Author's Note:**

> this was written super long ago. as in, probably years, so it probably doesn't follow the current plotlines happening in the batman universe. i still thought it'd be a good idea to post it anyway, so here i am, doing so, even if it took a while. this basically just batfamily angst, but mostly bruce, and my attempt at interpreting who bruce is as batman and as a father to each of his sidekicks, who he ended up taking in more as a family than as partners in crime. and also comparing all that to russian roulette, which, at the time, was a deadly game that really caught my attention when i first learned of its concept (and honestly, what the fuck). i didn't put every one of his sidekicks, unfortunately, but i sorta explain why in some part of the story, i don't remember.

Thomas and Martha Wayne have always taught Bruce better. Do not talk to strangers, do not ever harm others in school, do not ever forget to greet adults politely.

 _Do not play stupid games_.

Bruce was never sure if this was _just_ a stupid game.

He did know that it was dangerous. Though that'd be an understatement. _Suicidal_ , maybe.

Russian Roulette is a game that fits no description.

Bruce had always known the danger of guns, especially after his parents’ deaths, and how to pry them away from the hands of others, even himself. But on a reckless night, in his younger years, he had not done so, decided to let go and be his “ _free spirited self_ ”, as his friends had called it.

On a reckless night, he decided to indulge his friends and their desire to play a game of Russian Roulette, as if it was a game with an obvious winner and a clear loser. Alfred told him to let loose, enjoy his youth, and sent him off with a bottle of alcohol to give as a present to the friend that had invited him over. The bottle was ¾’s empty by this time, and about to be shattered later on.

Bruce did not join, still sober and strongly against playing it, but he did provide the weapon.

When he handed it to his friends – the six of them – he had made sure to remove every single billet with the false promise of still keeping one in there.

He would indulge them, but he would not be responsible for their deaths.

 

The pistol revolver has six cylinders, can fit six bullets in.

There are six sidekicks.

(Oracle, Batwoman, and Bluebird do not count, simply because they never needed _him_. Only the _title_.)

One for each.

 

 _Bang. Bang_.

 

Jason is the first one to die.

There is a word that hangs in Bruce's tongue every time he thinks about it, every time he looks at the glass case of Jason's Robin uniform, and he knows the word well. _Almost_.

The word weighs as heavy as his guilt. The word _is_ his guilt. _Almost_.

Batman had _almost_ figured out what Robin was thinking. Batman had _almost_ realized in time that the Joker wasn't there when he was chasing those terrorists. Batman had _almost_ reached the warehouse that his son was kept in before it exploded.

Bruce had _almost_ saved Jason.

 _Almost_.

Thing is, Batman is no Superman. He is not invulnerable, or fast, or super strong. He is just _human_. And not once had he ever felt powerless about that. Not until now anyway.

Batman is supposed to be a protector– Gotham’s protector. But if he couldn't even save his own son, what more a city of people who didn't even want to be saved?

Batman is no Superman. But he does have a weakness, a Kryptonite, one that’s special one among the many other weaknesses a normal mortal has: _almost_ , his Kryptonite.  

After Jason's funeral, Alfred comes to him while he's working on a minor case by the computer. He hands Batman something he found in the second Robin’s room. While Bruce is about to ask why he was searching through that place, he takes a look at the object first.

It's a gun.

Batman sends the butler away, and examines the gun. It's ordinary – a pistol, with no bullets. Alfred had told him that Jason kept it under his pillow, to protect himself from intruders or monsters that’d come sneak in at night (it was Jason's little secret with Alfred, back then).

The gun reminds Bruce of a lot of things: his parents’ death, Jason’s life. And he thinks of how it was taken away from a madman – a madman with no superpower but insanity. Batman keeps the gun safely tucked in his pocket like a momentum.

After Jason's funeral, after stopping the Joker who attempted murder on all those who attended his meeting as an ambassador, the Joker escapes, and the crusader’s thirst for vengeance isn't resolved in the slightest.

Eventually, Batman finds him, and he nearly kills the Joker, presses the gun against his forehead and almost pulls the trigger, almost ends the never-ending laughter of a psychopath.

 _Almost_ (his Kryptonite).

Instead, he brings the Joker back to Arkham with two broken arms and two bleeding legs. Joker stills laughs at him, taunting him about how Batman is a coward, but Bruce only hears how he wasn't there for his son.

On the first Christmas Bruce has without Jason, Bruce cannot hear the _ho, ho, ho_.

Only the _ha, ha, ha_.

 

 _Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang_. _Bang_.

 

Bruce knows he has never been fair to Stephanie.

Maybe not everyone can read between the lines, or that they have too much on their plate, but Bruce had always known, at the back of his mind, in the dark corner filled with things he should do but tended to neglect in favor of the more important matters at hand, that he should have been more understanding towards Stephanie.

While Stephanie had demanded Batman to train her as Robin, it was his fault for agreeing with her, despite knowing how she wasn't what he was looking for, what he needed. Maybe it was because deep down, he believed that training Steph would make her just like Tim. Because Tim was, _well_. One of a kind, in Bruce's eyes.

She was nothing like the Boy Wonder before her though, which, while it didn't shock Bruce, because _of course_ they’d be _different_ , it didn’t him from becoming frustrated.

He had fired her without a single thought, after just one fuck-up, not even bothering to know _why_ she had even done it. And Bruce should’ve known better that kids, especially teenagers, wouldn't take reactions like those well. He should have known.

He should have, but he didn't. He chose not to. Stephanie was desperate to prove herself, and it led to this: a beat up girl, on the verge of death, a heart monitor, white sheets, and a distraught doctor outside the room.

Stephanie talks and Bruce learns things about her that he already knows. He thinks how it's nice to get information from the person itself than others. This is Bruce's petty attempt to set things right.

Batman does what he could do: he comforts her, he listens to her, and he assures her things will be alright.

For what it's worth, at least he meant every single one of them.

The hospital room that contains a dead girl and a supposed hero reminds Bruce that he could've done better, could've been better.

Stephanie’s unmoving heart is Bruce's shame. That he wasn't fast enough. That he didn't care enough.

It's a bigger shame on how accurate and true that idea is.  

 

_Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang._

 

In some ways, it felt like a repeat of what happened to Jason.

Except this feels like watching a movie.

Bruce did not predict what Talia was thinking until it was too late.

(He thinks that deep down, Talia didn't know either. He hates her for what she has done, but she seems to hate herself enough to not be against his hatred for her. At some point, they all lose it. They will all ruined by madness and darkness and despair eventually.

Bruce actually wonders when his _own_ eventually will come. If it already _had_ arrived.)

It's not often that Batman fucks up, and it's even rarer that when he's fooled, does the damage become too unbecoming.

So of course, it feels like viewing a movie. When it happens. Everything feels distant; unreal. There's no way that Bruce is going to be too late, for the third _(already?)_ time. There's no way that he's going to lose another person precious to him. There's no way he going to let that happen.

The taunting words of Talia echo in his mind. They haunt him, become a burden he carries on his shoulder. One of the many.

Just like seeing how his boy – his son, flesh and blood – get impaled by his brother, his clone.

It’s like he got stabbed himself.

(And yet, it still feels like he's not a part of it. He's a spectator, watching what is happening and unable to change anything.

He is _helpless_.)

Damian's death is not really Damian's death to Bruce. Damian's death is just a fixable problem to him, an alternative possibility that is counted as _worst case scenario_.

( _There is a solution to make this right_. He can still turn away; he can still–)

Bruce will not accept the fact that his son is dead.

 

 _Bang_.

 

Dick has always been special to Bruce.

Of course, all of them are special to him. In their own unique way. But this is different. Dick is different.

Dick was Bruce's first son. The first sidekick, the first child, the first person (besides Alfred) who didn't make Bruce feel so alone anymore.

The first one, in a long time, to be the cause of loud happiness in the dark, gloomy Manor.

Each death of a loved one that he's experienced is different from the rest. A gunshot (parents), an explosion (Jason), succumbing to injuries (Stephanie), an impalement (Damian). Most of those deaths were _loud_ , figuratively and literally – immense and shocking, expected just at the last moment before despair.

But then there are deaths like Stephanie's. . . and Dick’s. Quiet, expected even before, creeping devastation. 

It's a scary thought, though Batman would never admit it, to be surrounded by so much of his enemies (and yet, they _aren't_ his enemies, for once not out to dominate the world– just to _save it_ instead) upon trying to save his son. It definitely isn't the first time Bruce has met loss, or something that's about to become one, but it's the first time that he’s made a different decision – to prioritize family over city, over the world.  

It could be showing a sign of weakness to these people that he's so affected with the state Nightwing was at, strapped to a bomb that would kill many if it wasn't stopped, possessing a determination to save Dick rather than those who would be murdered that is unheard of from someone like Batman.

And Dick, oh, _Dick_. He had never looked so terrified, but accepting of his fate. Batman promised to save him with a strong resolve but the empty words that were more meant for himself than his own son was stronger. And Dick knew that.

(Nightwing refused to indulge him though, but Batman was not looking for reassurance. He was looking for success.)

When Luthor stops Dick’s heart, Bruce's heart stops along with it. It's only for a brief moment though, while his son’s is everlasting. Like his other sidekicks, his children, he died a hero.

It doesn't feel heroic in the slightest.

(Batman would’ve killed Luthor– had almost done so, if not for the thought of disappointing his eldest child for going against his code after doing so much to instill it on others.)

Each death tears a bit of Bruce's heart each time. Made him realize that he had to stop this from happening as much as possible, that he cannot lose any more of his family. But losing Dick did not just tear a part of his heart– it took the start of it all (the start of a new family, a new hope for Bruce) without qualms or hesitation.

The Murder Machine did more than kill Dick; it killed Bruce along with it.

He can remember the fading laughter echoing in the halls of a young acrobat, one too young and too free, one who just lost but also found. The laughter of a boy that began it all. He can also hear the beeping of the countdown as clearly. The one that would end all.

(He tries not to remember anymore.)

 

 _Bang. Bang. Bang_.

 

Tim has never made an important move that was without reason.

It was something Bruce deeply admired Tim for, perhaps one of the many reasons why he allowed him to become the third Robin.

Each of the Robins represented a part of Bruce. Dick with his light personality that he showed the public (there's a small part in Bruce that was really like that), Jason’s ruthlessness, Stephanie's determination, Damian and his intimidation.

Tim reminded Bruce of his own intellect (like Barbara, though she's something else _entirely_ ), his strategic planning and leading and way of thinking. The boy was gifted with a great mind, one he used for good and utilized to the fullest. He remembered lots of things and read old cases like they were novels, interesting, still applicable even now, and easily manipulated words and terms like they were lifeless dolls, awaiting purpose and life.

Batman isn't sure if _suicide_ is the right term for what happened.

He wonders if it was a calculated move. If Red Robin knew the consequences of his actions when he decided to do it. And then Batman answers his own question – _yes_ , Tim knew.

(It is not comforting.)

The Joker is Batman’s number one enemy, the biggest opposite to everything he is and everything he stands to be. The worst of the Joker’s work was killing Jason; create this grand scheme to ruin Batman in the worst way possible by destroying the life of his second son, and crippling Barbara; make an example out of her and Jim Gordon’s sanity that Joker was determined to erase.

Batman thought that that would be the last of it. He told himself he would never let something like that happen ever again, to someone precious and important to him.

And then, Tim was taken.

There was a stupid part of Batman that thought, that believed, that _hoped_ , that whatever happened to him would not be as brutal as what happened to the second Robin and the first Batgirl.

And of course, the Joker, as always, proved him wrong.

The Joker is fucked up that way – creatively evil, always theatrical in everything he does. Never needed any other reason to do the worst to others other than to mess with his archenemy.

When Batman got there, Joker’s reference of him wanting a sidekick of his own made Bruce’s blood boil, knowing that the comment was about Jason, and to an extent, Dick as well, that he had so much children he took under his wing that he wouldn’t notice if one of them vanished from his grasp (it was also a reference to how he wasn’t there in time, how the bomb went off right before he got the warehouse door open, how he held the body of the son he should’ve been more lenient to).

To say Batman was horrified when he saw the state Tim was in when Joker revealed him to be his _Joker Junior_ would be an understatement. He wanted to take the boy – he was still _just a boy_ , still young, still full of so much potential and once full of so much possibilities of happiness ( _now gone_ ) – in his arms, hold him in the way he hasn’t held any of his children in a long time, try and bring him back like doing that would not be futile and useless.

He hates feeling useless.

And then Tim cried, when it was all over. It really did feel _over_ , when Batman fully processed everything that happened. The Joker was dead, truly, dead. _Gone_. Never again to condemn another child to so much agony. Batman had never felt so wrongly grateful for that.

He bent down and embraced him, silent as he held and comforted and told Tim that _things would be alright_ , that _he was safe_ , that _everything’s going to be okay_.

(That was the first time he truly felt like a _father_.)

It takes years later before it actually really gets to Tim. In all honesty, Bruce should have seen the signs. Therapy didn’t last as long as he thought he would, so of course the aftereffects of the trauma would catch up to Tim only later on, and all the deaths that just occurred – from Stephanie to Conner to Bart to Damian to Dick – served to be the other factor of how Tim cracked.

Even with the Joker dead, a part of him lived within Tim. A small chip at the nape of his neck, not visible nor felt, but there. Sitting there, seemingly harmless, just a reminder. A scarring memory.

It had bothered Bruce, when he found out. He wanted it extracted, but that couldn't happen without Tim being possibly killed in the process. And that– that couldn't happen. Never again.

At least nothing happened for years. Nothing triggered the chip in Tim to activate and change him into something like the Joker Junior. Batman even thought that the chip was a small explosive that stopped working because the Joker had died.

But maybe Tim figured it out, even long before. He started acting strange, muttering things and chuckling ( _laughing_ ) at the littlest things.  Sometimes he secluded himself in his room doing whatnot, worrying the Titans.

When he really snapped, it was after a Titans mission. He hadn't been much help, and the rest called him on it, even though Tim merely brushed them off, telling them he was exhausted with the latest paper he had to work on for the Wayne Enterprises. He declined going out with them for a celebration and went off on his own, perched himself on the ledge of a random building in a faraway deserted city, and tried collecting his thoughts.

(He started talking. Like there was _someone_ there. And laughing. Like he was told the _best_ joke in the world. Laughing.

And laughing. And _laughing_.)

The fall was loud, but graceful, almost like a falling bird. No one saw it, but Conner heard it. His blood froze, not hearing the thoughts or words but the wind, and Superboy was flying, going as fast as he could, trying to get there in time, trying to _stop_ it from happening.

(Because Tim had called for him, even if it just a millisecond of weakness that slipped through his tongue. And Conner had still heard him, loud and clear.)

If he didn't know Tim, Bruce would've thought that Tim was really insane, _went_ insane, right at that moment. But he _did_ know Tim, and he could tell that _this_ was a calculated move. Red Robin knew what he was doing when he removed his utility belt, Tim knew what he was doing when he removed all trackers off his body and comms, he knew what he was doing when he was falling while laughing, _what_ he was doing before he’d go insane.

(Before he _died_.)

Bruce is the one that personally washes the blood off of the pavement. As Batman, but with his cowl off. He is well-aware of the dangers of this, but he owes it to his son to do this. Alfred does it with him. They are the only ones in the street.

The stench of Tim’s death reeks.

Bruce flinches at the smell like it slapped him in the face.

 

 _Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang_.

 

In his defense (a very poor one at that), Batman didn't think Black Bat needed him.

With a clear sense of morals seen through her actions and a declaration to Batman that she was moving to another city to gain independence after Tim officially moved out to stay with the Titans, he believed her every word. She had proved herself enough times of her competence, and he knew _she_ , of all people, would never away from her path, no matter what she faced. (A big part of why Bruce let his adopted daughter go was because she did not condemn him or get angry at his failure to save her other siblings, and because they both knew they'd be safer when they weren't together. Maybe they could avoid a repeat of the danger that constantly happened.)

 _Her_ , of all people, he expected to live.

Cass had moved to Bludhaven ever since Dick died, becoming its new ray of salvation and hope after the concept of Nightwing faded into darkness. She did well-enough that Batman stopped monitoring her progress, entrusting her the safety of the city his eldest son called his own, and Bludhaven was kept under Black Bat’s watch for years.

The event happened recently after Tim’s death, which, Batman thought, was a bit too suspicious to be coincidental. It’s only later on, when he gets a report from Oracle after hosting a banquet to entertain Gotham's rich folk, that Black Bat had sent a distress call for help to them, that he knows it's Harley’s and the Joker’s goons’ revenge plan. To attempt to destroy Bludhaven by blowing it up – the classic type of over-the-top the Joker had always done at Gotham, this time in Bludhaven, hosted by Harley Quinn – and have Black Bat try and foil the plan.

It's not something that surprises any of the vigilantes, well accustomed to dramatic schemes and well-equipped to handle them, especially with Black Bat’s always calm composure. So she doesn't ask or require any backup with the bombs in disabling it.

Oracle, as Bruce went to put on his suit after creating an excuse to leave the event, updated him on Cass’ progress. She disabled the last bomb upon sacrificing her utility belt in the process, and Barbara reminded him to get her a new, and maybe more in number even after it was all done. It comforted Batman, at the time, that even Oracle still found a way to be casual around him, as if things could still get better, even after all this time.

But then Black Bat got cornered by the entire Joker gang with Harley leading it. They were great in number, carrying all kinds of weapons that Cass didn’t have the means to counter. She was able to use the ones that fell out of the enemy's grasp though, Oracle explained, but it wasn't enough. It was a last stand, Cass stopping anyone from trespassing or going through her towards the city. She was protecting it, in fear of even one of them causing havoc without her there to monitor it, so she was defeating them on the spot.

It was the time where Batman’s teachings and values were put to its ultimate test, he thinks to himself as he later inspects the aftermath of the scene. Black Bat apparently avoided killing any of them, save for the one who she managed to take down with her in the process of her own death: Harley Quinn. It seemed that lunatic got the best of Cass, managing to behead her while being impaled with a stake Bludhaven’s protector had picked up out of nowhere during the fight.

The sight of Cass’ head severed from her body fills Bruce with a familiar grief, as it rolls towards his feet and the face stares at him. Her eyes are open, but the expression is as fierce as it could ever be. At least she died with a fitting look on her, something to represent the kind of person she was. Resilient, strong, _unyielding_.

Batman ignores Oracle’s multiple questions and concerned words as he picks up his now-dead daughter’s head and cradles it in his arms, an action similar to how he held all his other children’s unresponsive bodies.

(The dead Harley Quinn is staring at his direction, face put in a permanent grin, just like the Joker in so many ways.)

It was a case of overestimation. She was a fighter from the start, a warrior at heart. She could've been a killing machine if she wanted to, if she dared to cross the line, if she didn't know right from wrong.

She was also, a young girl. A strong woman, but his daughter. Still missing what it means to have a complete family and still lacking the love he should've given her to make up for it all. Still so inexperienced, despite going through so much. It’s something he failed to see.

Cassandra Cain is a hero, someone who followed the same beliefs Bruce did, and died by them.

(Died by beliefs that Bruce himself, isn't sure are the right ones. It comes with such a great cost, after all.)  

Bruce drives the used, blood-stained stake through the spot on the ground where Cass died, treating her and her deeds like the hero she is, the hero all of his children were supposed to be treated as, but weren't.

He buries her body and head in the city she was raised in, but leaves her soul in the battlefield where she died.

 

Bruce doesn't know it, but he's been playing this game his whole life.

 

Bruce keeps a gun safe in a glass case, seated on one of his desks in the Cave. It looks like the Rose in Beauty and the Beast.

(Dick _loved_ that movie).

There's nothing special about the gun. It's a typical pistol revolver, can fit six bullets, heavy, but bearable if you've held enough dangerous things in life. The pistol revolver is not loaded.

It also has no purpose whatsoever, because a gun will never be Bruce’s last resort. Still, it's there. Like a reminder of everything he stands for and everything he does not.

He has never swayed from his beliefs, but it looks like he's always been doing it. Without knowing.

 

He is responsible for their deaths, after all.

 

Bruce keeps a gun safe in a glass case, seated on one of his desks in the Cave. It's treated just like the numerous costumes on display cases. Strong, memorable, important, but also, fragile. Dangerous. _Painful_.

The pistol revolver is not loaded.

It might as well should be.

 

Jason died to a beating, and an explosion, Damian died to impalement. Dick to a stopped heart, Cassandra to a beheading, Tim to a fall, Stephanie to torture.

None of them had died to a bullet wound. But it doesn't soften the blow to Bruce's heart, knowing he all failed them in more ways than one.

Sometimes, in his sleep, Bruce dreams of each of their deaths. Jason's labored breaths as he waited for the end, Damian's insides being cut by the sword of who he was meant to be, Dick’s smile that was free in ways his body was not as he told Bruce to escape. Cassandra and her resistance as she fought to her death, the loud _splat_ Tim made and the blood that spread across the pavement, Stephanie's fading heartbeat on the monitor.

None of them had fallen under a gun. But they had all fallen under death.

And Death does not care _how_ you go, as long as _you're already gone_.

 

Bruce did not join, but he did provide the weapon.

When he handed it to them, he made sure to remove every single bullet with the false promise of still keeping one in there.

But it feels like each cylinder is still filled with a bullet. And there are six shots ringing in his ears that he pretends don’t exist.

He will indulge them, and he will be responsible for their deaths.

Bruce doesn't know it, but he's been playing this game his whole life.

There is no winner. Or loser.

Only death.

Only a _bang_.

**Author's Note:**

> congrats, you've made it to the end of this story. kudos and comments are /super/ appreciated. seriously. they mean a lot. thanks for reading!!


End file.
